by Lori M. Lee
“I’m asking about you right now,” I say.
“Then you’ll be disappointed. I left that person behind a long time ago. I chose this life, knowing it would cost everything because I wanted to serve a greater purpose.”
As everything is with Kendara, her words are a lesson. If you set yourself on a path, you must be willing to make the sacrifices to see it through. I think about what still lies ahead, of what I need to do to face the Soulless—of what sacrifices I might yet need to make. A weight sinks in my gut.
“So you did what was necessary to pass as a human and won the place of Shadow to King Senbyn, and then to his daughter. And all that time, you remained loyal to the Empire.”
“The Shadow is allowed information and freedoms no other Evewynian can match,” she says. “It was the ideal position.”
A faraway voice rises above the rooftops, shouting my name. I frown, feeling the frantic currents of Saengo’s emotions. I want to go to her, but I can’t let Kendara leave. Not yet.
“Saengo Phang,” Kendara says, plucking her name like she’s criticizing the syllables. “After how long I’ve lived, I’m not easily surprised. But when I heard you turned your friend into a familiar, I was truly shocked.”
I stiffen. “How do you know about that?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t sound so surprised. You’re not a complete twit. You know it’s my job to uncover secrets.”
“I noticed,” I mutter. She’s always known things she’s no business knowing.
“It won’t end well between you two.”
I scowl and push away from the wall, angry for allowing such weakness before her. “You’re wrong,” I say, proud of the conviction in my voice.
Kendara shrugs. “You always preferred to learn things the hard way.”
I shake my head. It’s pointless to argue. Kendara is a realist, which I grudgingly admit is part of why I love her. She never glosses the truth as she sees it, though sometimes I wish she would.
“Like the fact that I’m a shaman? Why didn’t you ever tell me? After I awoke my craft, why didn’t you find me? You just disappeared and left me with a letter rather than face me yourself.”
Even though her letter claimed she loved me, I don’t think I can believe it. In all the years I was her pupil, she did her best to smother any signs of affection between us.
Kendara’s tone is biting. “I was your mentor, not your keeper. I taught you what you needed to take care of yourself. When Ronin discovered the truth, he and the queen plotted against us both. So I left.”
If nothing else, it’s reassuring to know she didn’t tell the queen about me. But Kendara hasn’t revealed herself to me now because she misses me.
“Why are we speaking then?” I ask, crossing my arms to mirror her posture.
“Because you still have time to make a choice.”
“What choice?”
Again, Saengo’s voice calls from nearby, closer now.
Kendara makes an impatient sound. “Whether you want to hear it or not, I need to tell you about your mother. She was my friend.”
I snap my mouth shut, swallowing my retort.
“My last friend, the only one who refused to be cut from my new life. She was a soulrender, and when her family discovered her craft, they moved her to the countryside. They kept her powers hidden, so she never trained to control it. After she accidentally exposed her craft, she was jailed to await an imperial escort for her execution in Mirrim.”
“You saved her,” I say, trying to reconcile that with the hard-edged woman standing before me.
“How could I not? At the time, I was still in training to become the next Shadow, but I’d left her means to contact me. After receiving her plea, I hurried back to the Empire and caught up with her escort before they could reach Mirrim.”
My fingers find the pommel of Phaut’s sword. She used to touch it when she felt uneasy. “And the rest of her family?”
“Dead,” Kendara says without inflection. “Following the law of the Empire, they were executed for birthing a soulrender. I meant to go back for them, but it was too late.”
I swallow, bitterness coating my tongue. I assumed my mother was shamanborn. The thought of finding family in the Empire hadn’t even occurred to me until this moment. Yet, the loss of what could have been swells through me. Saengo is the closest person to a family I have. And Kendara, much as she seemingly wishes to disavow me.
“And your friend?” It’s too strange to say “my mother” out loud. It doesn’t feel real.
“I left her somewhere safe and checked in on her as often as I could until I found the fool girl pregnant. I offered to kill the man responsible, but she insisted it was consensual and that she wanted you. She refused to leave you the way she was forced to leave everyone else.”
I want to believe that the harsh rasp of her words is to disguise the emotion beneath. But I’ve always wanted to read more into Kendara’s words and actions than was actually there.
I reach up to trace the faint scars lining my ears. “But she did.”
“Not by choice. The Empire found her shortly after you were born. She died refusing to tell them who helped her escape. In return for saving her life, she saved mine.” Anger lingers beneath her voice, the resigned ire of old wounds. With each word, her voice grows quieter. “I hunted them down and silenced them before they could reveal to others that she’d had a child.”
“It was you,” I whisper, my fingers still hovering at my ears.
“I had no choice. I didn’t know who else might know about you. If more shamans came looking, they would mistake you for human.”
I always thought I was abandoned at the orphanage. Unwanted. A girl with no true name save what the monks gave me in mockery. I’m not sure how to reconcile Kendara’s story with the one I’ve always believed.
My mother had loved me. If the Empire hadn’t found her, what sort of life might I have had? I push away the thought. There’s no use lingering on what can’t be changed.
An ember sears beneath my ribs, but I don’t know where to direct my anger. Kendara killed those responsible. But they were sent by the Empire. By House Yalaeng.
They would kill me without hesitation if they knew the truth, just as they have whole families. All because of one shaman. I lower my hands before me, palms upright, as if I might see the truth of my craft peering out from beneath the lines.
My mother accidentally revealed herself because she never learned to control her craft. What if what’s happening to me isn’t because of the Soulless? What if it’s just me … losing control?
“You should’ve told me all of this sooner,” I say, dropping my hands to my sides. Saengo’s voice calls my name again, close enough that I can also hear the voices of the Light Temple guards.
“I hoped to never tell you. It wasn’t important then.”
Her words ignite that ember in my ribs, burning away the ache and sadness, leaving only anger. “You knew who I was, and you lied to me. You’ve lied to me from the moment we met.”
Kendara huffs, annoyed. “Clearly, my lessons about containing your emotions didn’t take. I didn’t lie about everything. You’re a gifted fighter, Sirscha. And you are tenacious as well.”
I hate the way her words settle within me, taking root. All I want is to tear them loose. Even after all the lies, a part of me still aches for her approval.
“It was for your protection. I don’t expect you to understand,” she says.
“Stop talking down to me,” I hiss. “I deserve the truth.”
“I’m not your mother, and I don’t owe you anything but the promise I made to her. I prepared you as best I could. You think you know everything now, and that you’re ready for every truth just because you murdered someone?”
I flinch. I’m not sure if she’s talking about what I did at the teahouse or if she knows I killed Ronin. But to hear her snap about not being my mother stings like a physical blow. Of course she isn’t, but she’
s the closest to one I’ve ever had, which she damn well knows.
Slowly, spitting every word through my teeth, I say, “Murder is what you taught me to do.”
Kendara is silent for a moment. Then she turns on her heel and pulls her hood back over her hair. “You stupid girl,” she says roughly. “I taught you to survive, not to throw your life away for an Empire that would sooner see you dead than thank you.”
She’s angry, which catches me off guard. My own fury dampens. I’ve rarely seen her angry.
She glances over her shoulder. “It isn’t too late to walk away. You still have a choice.”
“This is the choice? You said you taught me to survive. To prepare me.”
She throws up her hands and looks away again. “It’s a pity you didn’t pick up the wisdom to know when to act and when to walk away. You’re too damn stubborn. Still too afraid that walking away means failing.”
“So you’d rather me and Saengo just … disappear? What about the Soulless? Saengo isn’t healed yet, and we can’t leave until he’s dead.”
Kendara nods once. “You were never tied up in all of this with oaths and secrets, not like me. But if you mean to stay, then I won’t have any part in seeing you throw away the life your mother died to give you.”
She strides up the alley, back toward the shadows.
“Kendara,” I say, my voice breaking.
She doesn’t stop. A fresh wave of betrayal burns up my throat and scalds my eyes. I’ve always hated leaving Kendara because it was never guaranteed that she would call me back. Now, watching her walk away, it feels like an ending I’m not prepared for.
“Your cartographer is here,” she says, gesturing to the back of the nearest building where the glow of a lantern flickers within a second-story window.
Then she slips around a corner, and she’s gone.
SIX
Saengo and the Light Temple guards find me a minute later, alone in the darkened alley.
Blood roars in my ears, every muscle in my body coiled tight, ready to spring after Kendara and demand … what? That she stay? It’s an unreasonable and childish reaction, and I know it. Her only obligation to me was the promise she made to my mother, and she fulfilled it.
When Saengo sees me, she pauses for a heartbeat. She doesn’t ask for an explanation, only rushes forward and puts her arms around my shoulders. I push down the anger, the self-pity, and the pain that squeezes at my throat. The Light Temple guards linger at a distance, uncertain of what’s happened.
“The cartographer.” I force out the words and inject my voice with a sense of calm I don’t feel. “I found him.”
To their credit, the guards don’t complain about my running off. They simply follow us from the alley, watching me warily. At the front of the building, we find a bookshop. The wooden likeness of a partially unfurled scroll hangs above the door alongside a lantern and the name Winimar Books.
I grip the hilt of Phaut’s sword. I have a task to complete, and I can’t dishonor her memory by wallowing in my own troubles. I’m meant to be doing this for her.
“It’s open,” Saengo says, turning the knob. A bell chimes above the entryway as she pushes the door wide.
Inside, the shop is cluttered but warm. Every wall is lined in bookshelves and piles of scrolls spill out onto tables. Sconces burn at either side of the back wall where a map of the Empire is mounted and framed. Beneath it sits a table, littered with parchment, bottles of ink, and stacks of books, some lying open as if someone was reading and then walked away.
An emerald and magenta hummingbird rests within a wooden birdhouse hanging from the ceiling. Presumably a familiar. The shaman it belongs to sits behind a counter, scrawling notes into a ledger. His neat black hair dusts the collar of his plain, navy robes.
He says something in Nuval, probably a reminder of their closing time, but one of the guards cuts him off in Evewal. “We’re on an errand from the Temple of Light.”
The man lifts two bushy, graying eyebrows, and with an air of resignation, lowers his pen and rises from his chair. Emerging from behind the counter, he drops into a bow, and replies in stilted Evewal, “How can I be of service?”
“Are you Winimar?” I ask. When he confirms that he is, I continue. “I’m looking for a man in your employ. I’m afraid I don’t know his name, but he has two daughters. One of them goes by Phaut. Can you tell us where he lives?”
Winimar’s smile wilts, something like pain pulling at the corners of his mouth. He seems to struggle to find the words in Evewal but manages to say, “I hate to be the bearer of ill news, but Phaut …”
“I know,” I say gently, unbuckling her sword from my belt. “This was hers. I wish to return it to her father.” And apologize for failing to protect her.
Winimar only shakes his head and lowers his eyes in genuine sorrow. “He left Mirrim to see to her burial and stay with his brother up north. I’m afraid I don’t know when he’ll be back.”
“Oh.” I lower the sword, disappointment spearing through me.
“But!” he adds quickly. “His daughter Juleyne works as a guard at the Bright Palace and stops by to check in on me once a week. I’d be glad to give her the sword for you. What did you say your name is?”
I don’t like the idea of passing on the task to someone else. Phaut’s family will have been told how she died, but I was there. I wanted to tell her father how brave and loyal she was, how she became a friend and defended me to the end.
But maybe that’s selfish. Maybe by trying to make amends, I would only be putting him and the rest of his family through more pain. I don’t know what the right thing to do is, but if he won’t return for some time, there isn’t much choice.
With reluctance, I hand him the sword. “My name is Sirscha.”
His eyes widen, those thick brows shooting up his forehead. “As in, the soulguide?” He hastily bows again, lower this time. “You honor me with your presence.”
I try not to grimace. “Please, it’s quite all right. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
“Not at all.” He turns away, gently setting the sword on the counter, and then makes a broad gesture around his shop. “Is there anything else I can help you with? Anything at all.”
“There is one thing,” Saengo says, stepping forward. “Would you happen to have any books about the Empire from around, say, six hundred years ago?”
Winimar taps his fingers against the counter, considering. “I don’t think so. But if you’re interested in old texts, you might like this.”
He rushes to the back of the shop and grins as he slides out a framed diagram from beneath a pile of parchment. It’s much smaller than the map on the wall, but he hands it over proudly.
“This is one of my oldest specimens. I should really organize this.” He gestures at the table.
“What is it?” I ask, holding it up so the others can see. It looks like a crudely drawn floor plan.
“An early draft for the construction of the Temple of Light,” he says.
“Really?” one of the guards says, peering over my shoulder. “It looks different seeing it from the top like this.”
I tilt my head at the shape of the main temple, the connecting corridors, and adjoining rooms. “Is it me, or does the arrangement almost look like someone sleeping on their side?”
“You’ve a sharp eye,” Winimar says. “That was deliberate. Whoever designed the Temple of Light wanted the entire building to be an homage to Suryal the Sleeper.”
“Sleeper?” I repeat, handing him back the diagram. “I’ve never heard her called that.”
“It’s an archaic title.” He sets the diagram on a nearby shelf for display. “It fell out of use during Emperor Orin’s reign, about a century after the construction of the five temples. You know the story of the Fall of Suryal?”
Saengo and I shake our heads as the Light Temple guards nod. We weren’t taught Empire history or mythology at the Company, certainly not with Queen Meilyr’s hatred of shaman
s.
“It’s a long story. The pertinent part is that nearly all the world had been destroyed by the Devourer, a creature born of humankind’s greed. Only Suryal took pity on the realm and challenged the Devourer. And while she succeeded in destroying it, the battle took her life as well. As she lay dying, she willed the last of her magic to restore humankind. From her blood came the shadowblessed, from her bone the humans, and from the fragments of her soul, the shamans were born.
“Although she fell, part of her consciousness, some essence of her soul, lived on, which is why some of her followers began calling her the Sleeper, as they believed she would awaken someday. Sometimes, the very lucky are even blessed with dreams about her.”
Winimar tells the story with buoyant energy, but I’m unable to summon the same enthusiasm. Instead, there’s a sick feeling at the back of my throat. Suryal. Suryali.
It’s an uncomfortable comparison, and one wrongly made. I’m not even a soulguide.
Here, in the heart of the Empire, I must be careful to contain my magic and my words.
Maybe Kendara is right. Maybe I’m still too afraid to fail. Not only in regard to Saengo, but in what the shamans want of me. Otherwise, why would I risk coming here?
I rub my forehead and thank Winimar for his help. Saengo links her arm with mine, at once reminding me of our purpose here. What anyone else expects from me doesn’t matter. I’m not their soulguide. My only task is to defeat the Soulless and save my best friend.
I wish I knew what the Soulless even wants. The most powerful evils can only be driven by something equally powerful. Like fear. Or love.
Maybe he doesn’t want anything at all. Maybe he’ll remain at Spinner’s End and enjoy the rest of his days in peace and solitude. And maybe I’ll sprout wings and a tail and go live with the wyverns.
I close my eyes, leaning into Saengo as we make the trek back to the temple. We rest our heads together, exhausted from a long day.
If only I could speak to the Soulless so that I can be better prepared for whatever he has planned. But that would be too easy. Admittedly, I want to speak with him partially out of morbid curiosity.